by Rachel Green
“Gosh yes.” Pennie scrambled toward the bags. “I haven’t had a picnic since I was out with Lady Agatha of Moresby Watch. We ate quail with slices of mango, washed down with white wine and tonic water.”
“Sounds delightful,” said Chase. He opened the bags and held up two triangular containers. “Chicken salad or BLT?”
Chapter Seventeen
Julie leaned back in her chair, throwing the yellow packet down so that it skidded across her desk and fetched up, like a lost Frisbee on the beach, against the groins of her monitor. She sat there for a moment, her one eye narrowed in thought, tracking the single customer in the shop until, uncomfortable with the constant scrutiny, he left without making a purchase.
That was one of her problems solved. The other, she didn’t have a clue about. Eyeing the package, she lifted the receiver on her desk phone and stabbed the buttons for Felicia’s gallery downstairs.
She chewed on the end of her pen while it rang, a habit she’d had in childhood but had thought eradicated since. “Come on, Fliss. Answer.” Her voice was directed at no-one in particular. It was more a prayer to the gods of persistence than anything else.
Warm ink flooded her mouth from the bitten biro just as the voice sounded in her ear. “Basement Gallery, Felicia Turling.” Julie spat out the ink, much to her sister’s consternation. “Hello?”
“Sorry. Fliss, it’s me.” All pretence of businesslike methods forgotten, Julie flustered to prevent her closing the connection. “Have you got a minute?”
“Sure.” Julie heard her sister drop into her executive leather chair. It was, in fact, identical to the standard office chair except for the material and the price tag. “There’s an old geyser looking at the watercolours in gallery three but there’s nothing he can steal. What’s up? Have you found out where that packet came from?”
“Not yet. I’m coming up a complete blank on it. It’s as if it’s been handled with the psychic equivalent of latex gloves.”
“Bummer.” Fliss took a sip of coffee. Julie could hear both sip and swallow from her side of the telephone line. “What are you going to do?”
“Turn it over to the police?”
“Sensible.” Fliss laughed. “I always wonder about that when I read books. Some poor heroine gets dragged into a tale of blackmail and murder and gawd-knows-what and I think, ‘go to the police, you fool. It’s their job.’”
“When did you last read a book?” said Julie.
“Films, then. I watch films. The point’s the same except you can’t go to the police.”
“Why not?”
“One, it’s a mystery and you love mysteries. Two, you know the police won’t care about it until something actually happens to the woman and we don’t want it to, and three, Jasfoup’s already pocketed the money.”
“What money?”
“See? You love mysteries.” Felicia’s voice dropped to a whisper. “There was five hundred quid in the packet.”
“Five hundred?” Julie was puzzled. “That’s not very much. I would have thought a hit man was way more than that. Thousands at least.”
“Who said anything about a hit man?” Felicia’s voice trilled with amusement.
“Frederick,” said Julie. “He said there were eddies around this woman in the photograph.”
“Eddies? Is that her ex-husband’s name?” Fliss gave a bark of laughter. “Honestly, Julie, I can’t believe you’d take anything Frederick says seriously. He took a long side step out of reality long before he died.”
“I suppose.” Julie frowned. “What do you think the money was for then?”
“Jasfoup said it was from Jim Hunt, so I guess it would be something to do with Magelight.”
“I’ll give Winston a ring,” said Julie. “See if he knows anything. He’s supposed to be Jim Hunt’s best friend.”
“Good idea.” Julie heard the thunk as Felicia put her feet up on her desk. “Winston’s a good sort. Be careful what you tell him, though. It’s his new girlfriend we’re talking about. You know what he’s like.”
“True. He’ll go charging off demanding to know everything.” Julie, in the absence of a pen, gnawed on the blue skin of her thumb pad. “Best I don’t tell him about Jim, eh?”
“That’s probably wise. Ask him about the woman. See if she’s mentioned anything to him.”
“Good idea.” Julie scowled as another customer entered. “I’ve got to go. See you later.”
“Yeah.” The line went dead as Felicia disconnected.
Julie stared at the new customer, daring her to approach the desk for help. Fortunately, the middle-aged woman read the signs and went upstairs to the comparative religions section. Julie elected not to tell her that the majority of those were downstairs in the stacks.
She opened her mobile to search for Winston’s mobile number then used the office phone to dial it. Harold’s business partner had an arrangement with the company that supplied the office line which meant all the calls were free.
It rang several times before Winston answered. “Julie, again. Can’t get enough of me, eh?”
“How did you know it was me?”
Winston gave a deep-throated laugh. “You’re not the only psychic in town, babe. Besides, I recognized the shop number and took a wild guess it wasn’t your boss on the dog. Now, what’s a lovely lady like you calling me at work for, eh?”
Julie caught herself smiling at his easy manner and sat up straight to compose herself. “Just a quickie, actually, Winston.”
“Over the phone?” Winston laughed. “It had better be a quickie. I’m at work.”
“You are?” Julie knew he worked at Magelight. “The woman you’re going out with…the one you were waiting for last night?”
“Pennie? What about her?”
“How much do you know about her background?”
She could hear Winston take a sharp intake of breath. “Not much. I’ve only just met her. Why?”
“I feel things. You know that. I think there’s some trouble heading her way. Something to do with Magelight.”
“This place? What sort of trouble?”
“I don’t know. What connection does she have with it?”
“Me, I suppose, though I’m the warm up act. She’s got her heart an’ her wedding finger set on Chase Spenser at the animal rescue place.”
“Thanks.” Julie wrote it down. “Anything else?”
“Her ex-husband works here.”
“Does he? Who’s her ex?”
“I don’t know. Steve somebody. Want me to find out?”
“Please. It could be really important.” Julie was excited; sure she was on the right track.
“Okay. I’ll get back to you when I’m not so busy.”
Julie’s phone went dead again. She stared at the receiver for a moment before cradling it, wishing it would ring again in her hand.
She jumped when it did, but the flashing light told her it was an internal number. “Hey sis,” she said.
“You up for lunch?” Felicia’s voice was already muffled by food. Julie hated it when Felicia constantly spoke with her mouth full. She had ever since she was a child. It was, at least, a good indication she was alone.
“I can’t,” Julie said. “I’m waiting for Winston to phone back. Did your gentleman buy anything?”
“Just a bit.” Julie could hear her sister’s smile. “I turned on the charm and he was putty in my hands.”
“You used your pheromones to sell a painting? Isn’t that immoral? An abuse of your natural abilities?”
“Tell it to the judge,” Felicia said. “He bought four, actually, and I’ll use any means I can to sell enough paintings to keep this gallery open. I’ve seen too many small galleries go under through lack of sales and I’m not about to let it happen
here as well. Harold sells books, doesn’t he? He must have special ways to sell them.”
“Not if he can help it.” Julie laughed. “I’m sure he wouldn’t sell any of them if he didn’t have to. He views other people buying his books almost like selling his children into slavery. It’s his considered opinion, no member of the public is worthy to own any of the books in his shop.”
“How does he keep in business?”
“The one or two first editions he sells to carefully vetted individuals.” Julie blinked as the phone emitted several short clicks into her ear. “Was that you?”
“Was what me?” Felicia took another bite of whatever she was eating. It sounded wet.
“Those clicks on the line.”
“I didn’t hear them from this end. Perhaps your phone is bugged.”
“Oh, come on!”
“No, seriously. I read in the Times there’s a rise in bookshop espionage. Especially in the children’s section. There’s a yellow alert on it.”
“You’re having me on, right.”
“No, straight up.” Felicia stifled a laugh. “It’ll be cleared up soon enough, though. They’ve put four middle class white kids and a dog on the job.”
“Very funny.” Julie’s stomach rumbled. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you after lunch, all right?”
“Right you are. I’m going to nip across the road and have a bite of Meinwen.”
“With Meinwen, you mean.”
“With, yes.” Felicia laughed. “I wouldn’t eat Meinwen.”
“I know,” said Julie. “She’s straight.”
The phone rang again before it had even had a chance to cool. Julie flicked through the CCTV monitors as she picked it up, looking for the woman who had wandered in when she was talking to Winston. “Hello? Alexandrian Gold?”
“Thought you were a psychic?”
“Winston!” Julie grinned, glad he couldn’t see her. “What have you found out?”
His voice dropped, a sure sign he didn’t want to be overheard. “I can’t access personnel records, like, but what I can do is access an authorization list. Them’s the people who get to go into specialist areas of the factory. There are three Steves that work here. One of em’s almost retiring age so seein’ as how Pennie is our age it’s not likely bein’ him. Of the other two, one of em is a right ugly git so it’s not him…”
“How do you know it’s not him?”
“Because I’ve met his missus and seen his kids. S’all right, though. I recovered.”
“Fair do’s.”
“So, that leaves Steven Lowry.”
“Can I talk to him?” Julie paused as she found the woman on camera four in the pre-eighteen-hundred room. She was standing still with an earpiece in. It was possible she was making a phone call herself but it seemed a little suspicious. Was she being paranoid if people really were out to get her?
“No. That’s the weird bit. He has black level clearance so he can go anywhere he likes.”
“What’s weird about that?”
“He signed in four days ago and hasn’t signed out since.”
“A workaholic?”
“Must be. I bet they don’t pay him overtime though.”
“Overtime?” Julie laughed. “What’s that then?”
“Very funny. I bet you earn twice what I do.”
“It’s my pretty face.” Julie smiled down the phone. “Listen, can you get a message to this Steve Lowry? Tell him I need to speak to him urgently?”
“I can flag his security pass, yeah. Anything else?”
“Not yet. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Not after seven. I’ve got a date.”
“With Pennie again?” Julie had written the name on her notepad.
“That’s the idea.” Winston chuckled. “She don’t know it yet, mind.”
Julie shook her head. “Good luck with that then. Let me know how it goes.”
“Can’t you just look in your crystal ball?” Winston, still laughing, put the phone down.”
“No,” said Julie to the dead line. “You know it doesn’t work like that.” She looked at the CCTV screen. The woman was taking out the earpiece and tucking it into her pocket. On a whim, Julie made another call, watching as the woman reversed her actions. “Harold?” she said when the phone in the office, twenty feet away was answered. “I think you ought to check on the woman upstairs. I think she’s a shop lifter.”
It was with some satisfaction that Julie watched the woman hurry from the shop as her employer and landlord appeared from his office. She opened her desk drawer and took a swab and a bottle of surgical spirits and crossed to the door.
“Did you get a look at her?” Harold said.
“Better than that.” Julie lifted a fingerprint from the polished brass, heedless of the pattern because she was more concerned with oil that had come from the woman’s fingers. “I got her DNA.”
Chapter Eighteen
Reverend Mackenzie spread white bread with low-fat margarine to the edge, added five thin pieces of cheese cut lengthwise down the supermarket wedge and smeared strawberry jam over the lot. A cellophane package of three Lincoln biscuits and a small pot of supermarket fruit yoghurt completed his lunch, which he ate in the vestry in front of his old computer. Classic FM filtered through from a transistor left over from one of last year’s jumble sales. It was time to fill in the church’s expense sheet and with Mrs Lowry throwing her prolonged tantrum over the organ, he was left to do it himself.
He took a bite of sandwich and pressed a key experimentally. One of the boxes flashed and by means of pressing the arrow keys he managed to highlight the fields for the current week. A glance at his notes gave him the amount to type in from the Sunday collection and the two donation boxes in the church.
Navigating through the boxes below left an impressive number auto-filling with amounts for gas, electricity and water rates. He skipped through ‘sundries,’ surprised that Mrs. Lowry regularly allotted ten pounds to it. He would have to ask what it was for.
Tabbing through to the end gave him the sinking feeling of failure. How could the church be that far into negative assets? There must be some way to garner more income. How did other churches do it?
He stirred his tea and sat back., time to tap the local businesses again. He hadn’t asked them to support their community church since the debacle over the bells last September. They should be good to cover the latest need. Mister Waterman alone should be good for an organ.
Purvis placed his sandwich to one side and started the word processor.
* * * *
Pennie popped the last piece of her chicken salad sandwich into her mouth and grinned at the man on the other side of the picnic cloth. “This was a lovely idea,” she said. “I thought you’d take me to a swanky restaurant.”
“And have to listen to the noise of other people’s idle chatter?” Chase smiled back and reached across the cloth. Pennie took his hand, surprised at the gesture and at how warm his fingers were as well. She stroked his palm with her thumb.
“That’s nice,” he said, “but I actually wanted your sandwich wrapper. We wouldn’t want to litter the environment, would we?”
“No, of course not.” Pennie, flushed with embarrassment, released his hand and passed him her picnic rubbish. She looked away while her blush subsided. “You picked a lovely spot,” she said, gazing across the panorama of the woods falling away below their vantage point. “However did you find it? I’d get lost if I was up here on my own.”
“I used to come to these woods as a kid,” Chase replied. He pointed to the distant town. “There’s the steeple of Saint Pity’s,” he said. “You’ll never be lost if you can spot that. When I was at school Father James used to say you’d never be lost with Pity in your eyes.” He pa
used, seeing the old priest in his mind, then shrugged. “Besides, you’d only have to follow the river down and you’d get to the park.”
Pennie strained to see. “Where am I supposed to be looking?” she asked. “All I see are the treetops.”
“Let me show you.” Chase crossed to her side of the blanket and knelt behind her. “There!” he said, his face next to hers and his arm stretched out. “Can you see it now?”
“Oh, yes.” Pennie was thinking less about the church steeple and more about Chase’s warm breath across her cheek. It was a fine line between pretending not to see the church to prolong the proximity, and looking like a complete idiot for not spotting the most prominent piece of architecture for miles. “It’s so big,” she murmured.
“Six hundred and twelve feet without the telephone mast,” Chase replied.
Pennie turned her head to look at him. He was still staring at the church and from this angle his eyes looked flecked with specs of red. She jumped as something cold touched her neck.
“It wasn’t supposed to rain,” she tilted her head back to see the drops coursing vertically toward her. “This is a picnic.”
“Sorry.” Chase began to gather the remaining food into the shopping bags. “If you want to head back to the car, I’ll see you there in a couple of minutes.”
“I don’t mind the rain,” said Pennie. “I used to stand in the rain when I was married, so that no-one could tell I was crying. Steve used to put it down to me being a bit loony.”
“I’m sorry,” said Chase. “I’m sorry you had to endure such things. A woman like you shouldn’t have to.” He gathered up the cloth and spread it over her shoulders. “Do you still need the rain to be free to cry?”
“Sometimes.” Pennie looked up at him and pulled the blanket from one side of her body. “There’s room for two in here, you know.”
They huddled under the picnic blanket as the shower washed over the forest, dark clouds sweeping like runners across the sky while the sun still shone on the hillside. Her hair was already plastered to her head and with the rain on her cheeks, Chase didn’t know whether she was laughing or crying. All he knew was, she was pulling him down.
